


Don't You Want to Believe

by clarityhiding



Series: Superheroes [1]
Category: Bandom, Cobra Starship, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-23
Updated: 2013-01-23
Packaged: 2017-11-26 16:28:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/652215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clarityhiding/pseuds/clarityhiding
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Mikey was right," Ray says in a rush. "The furniture <i>is</i> out to get him."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't You Want to Believe

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: All the product of my warped little brain! That is to say, entirely made up, these guys don't really have superpowers.  
> Notes: Thanks to B for indulging my _need_ for superheroes a couple years back. This isn't the fic that's directly a product of that, but close enough. And thanks to verbosewordsmith for putting up with my babbling and betaing this bit of ridiculousness.
> 
> Apologies for my bad Spanish. It's been a few years since I last used it regularly. Additionally, I must 'fess up to having traced some to make sure I got the art style correct for the image found in the story.

_Belleville, New Jersey, 1994_

Monday, Mikey falls out of his chair halfway through math. He tries to stop it from happening, grabs for the edge of the desk in those brief moments as he falls through the air, but his flailing arm is thrown back and the next thing he knows he's on the floor and everyone is staring at him.

Mikey doesn't notice the looks he's getting. He doesn't notice Ms Mayfield asking if he's done making a spectacle out of himself. Instead, sitting on the floor, bottom sore, glasses askew, Mikey is thinking very, very hard.

He's thinking that he didn't so much fall out of his chair as the chair itself seemed to dump him out. He's thinking that when he tried to catch himself, it was less a lack of coordination (though, gangly and just barely fourteen, he has plenty of that) that kept him from managing, and more that the desk shoved away his hand.

He's thinking that if the furniture of Ms Mayfield's ninth grade geometry class is going to start a vendetta against him, it could have really chosen a better time than the third week of the school year. Now all anyone will remember about him for the rest of the year is that he's a klutz who can't keep his limbs under control.

It's like Gee's been saying for years—high school sucks.

Later, at lunch, Gabe tries to convince him otherwise. "You just need to get out more. Stop spending so much time in your basement with Gerard. Meet more chicks." Gabe can say this because, unlike most of the rest of Mikey's friends, Gabe's somehow able to straddle the divide between "cool" and "smart." Mikey thinks it has something to do with the fact that Gabe eschews those things that are seen as nerdy and instead just drifts along through the social spheres of high school in a respectable way (in terms of social standing, at least—most people would never dream of applying the word "respectable" to Gabe) while scoring high on all the tests. Gabe once told Mikey that he's finished three college degrees through correspondence courses, is currently working on a couple of Ph.D.s in his spare time, and only still in high school because he feels it's an important part of his psychological development to "have the full high school experience." Needless to say, Mikey didn't believe him.

"You just want me to hang around in _your_ basement with you. I fail to see how this is an improvement," Mikey points out. Gerard may not be as cool as Gabe is in the eyes of the rest of the world, but he'll always be pretty fucking awesome in Mikey's.

"Gabe, stop trying to skeeve on my brother," Gerard says, sitting down across the table from them. He's got a bruise on his cheek and his backpack's nowhere to be seen, but Ray, who's trailing behind him, doesn't look particularly worried, so Mikey takes that as a sign that any trouble Gerard encountered in his morning classes has already been taken care of. Still, that doesn't mean Mikey has to like it.

"Encouraging socialization with his peers is hardly being skeevy," Gabe insists. "Toro, you're relatively normal—explain to these Ways about the high school social sphere."

"Sorry, Saporta, but I'm with Mikey on this one; your basement really isn't any better than Gerard's." Ray doesn't sound at all apologetic, which isn't surprising. Gabe's cool, but he has some freaky shit at his place. Gerard just has clutter and a whole bunch of drawings of vampires and stuff. "And you're really not in a position to complain about people not being normal."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Gabe says cheerfully, because in his world it's apparently no big deal for a sophomore to talk about social spheres and the like. Mikey may reserve judgment on whether Gabe actually has as many college degrees as he claims, but there's still a reason for why Gabe hangs out with Ray and the Ways at all—as "normal" as he professes to be, the rest of Gabe's friends tend to freak out or stop listening when Gabe breaks out the multi-syllabic words and complex theories. Gerard will at least try to understand what Gabe's talking about, and Mikey doesn't mind testing the various gadgets Gabe throws together in shop class, much to Gerard and Ray's horror. Still, for someone who professes to be so damned smart, Gabe's pretty hidebound sometimes.

"Anyway, I still say the desk pushed me out. I'm not _that_ much of a klutz," Mikey insists, attempting to bring the derailed conversation back on track.

"Really? Huh, that's weird. Maybe it has a vendetta against you," Gerard says, completely serious. Which is the cool thing about Gerard. Unlike Gabe, Gee actually listens when Mikey tells him things.

\---

Tuesday, Ray breaks the school record for the 100-yard dash during PE, clocking in at somewhere around nine seconds, which is apparently also a new world record, or nearly one, but no one can make a big fuss about alerting the authorities because it was timed by hand and thus subject to doubt, apparently.

At lunch, Ray's looking spooked and kind of nervous. "Before you ask," he says, "no, I don't know how I did it. I didn't try to go any faster, I just... did."

"The coach for Track and Field'll be on you to join the team with a time like that, Toro," Gabe tells him gleefully, and Ray groans.

"Don't remind me. Shit, I don't want to join anything," Ray grumbles, rubbing his face and flopping back on the grass.

"You and Gee wanted to join the croquet team last week," Mikey points out, because someone has to stay grounded here, and it's a sorry day indeed when that person ends up being Gabe. "So you could have an extracurricular thing for your college apps."

Gerard sighs, rolls his eyes, and insists, "That's _different_."

"I'm pretty sure we don't even have a croquet team," Gabe says thoughtfully, frowning to himself.

"Exactly. _Different_. Competitive sports are fucked up, we wouldn't want to have to play against other schools or anything."

"The thing is," Ray says as he digs through his pack for his lunch. "The thing is that it didn't even feel like my feet touched the ground, I was going so fast."

"That's weird. Maybe you really did break the school record," Gerard says, which is just ridiculous.

Ray snorts. "Yeah, right. Probably the stopwatch just messed up; I think it's older than your ma."

"Hey, you leave our ma alone," Mikey protests.

Gerard throws a Cheeto at Ray's head, but it gets stuck in his hair and they end up spending the rest of lunch trying to get it out.

\---

Wednesday, Ray discovers that Mikey wasn't joking about the furniture having a vendetta against him when, halfway through Spanish II, Mikey's desk shoves him out onto the floor. When Mikey tries to get up, all the desks in the row start batting him around like a ping-pong ball, and it's all Ray can do to look on in horror.

Señorita Baker somehow refuses to notice how fucking screwed up it is and only sees a disruption to the lesson. "Miguel, sí no puedes sientate en tu silla, vete al pasillo y esperas alli hasta sonidos la campana," she says sharply, which is just cruel. There's no way Mikey can hope to translate a single word while he's being jerked around like that. When Mikey doesn't do as he's told, she just gets mader. "I mean it, Mr. Way," she snaps, "if you don't leave the room right this moment, I won't hesitate to call Security on you and have them haul you out. This is _completely_ inappropriate behaviour for the classroom."

It's only the third week of school and Gerard'll _kill_ Ray if he lets Mikey get detention for something he can't control, so the next time Mikey comes past him, Ray shoots out a hand and hauls him up. Mikey gives him a shaky smile and makes for the door, so Ray figures he's alright again, but when Mikey reaches for the handle to leave the room, his arm goes flying backwards.

"Miguel," Señorita Baker says warningly, "no más juegos. Vete ahora mismo."

"Señorita, he's having a problem with the door. Can I open it for him?" Ray asks, already starting up out of his seat.

She shoots him a glare. Clearly, someone got out on the wrong side of the bed this morning. "En el español, Raymundo."

"Um. ¿Puede ayudo ello con la puerta?" Ray tries, crossing his fingers and hoping that he got it right. Mikey's stopped trying to open the door and is just standing near it now, looking absolutely miserable.

"No," she says meanly. "Mr. Way, if you aren't out of that door on the count of three, you will have detention for the rest of the week," she continues, and Ray stands up, because fuck this shit, now she's just being a jerk about it when it's pretty much obvious that Mikey can't help it. "Mr. Toro, if you take one step, you will be joining your friend in detention. _Uno_."

By now, Ray's fed up with all of this and he honestly doesn't care if he has detention for the rest of the month, he's not about to stand by and watch Mikey get bullied. He dashes to the door, flings it open, then speeds back to his seat to get his stuff before Baker kicks him out of the room as well for the rest of the period.

He's reaching down to grab his backpack when Ray hears a, " _Finally_ , Mr. Way," so he guesses Mikey's slipped through the open door. Ray glances up at the teacher, waiting for her to bawl him out for helping, but she just turns back to the board. "Ojos aquí, niños." The rest of the period passes without incident.

When the bell rings, Ray grabs Mikey's stuff along with his own before leaving the class. Out in the hall, Mikey's waiting, and Ray winces. There are lumps and bruises blooming all over Mikey's face and arms already, and his bottom lip is split; he looks like he's been beat up. "Gerard's going to freak when he sees you," Ray says, passing Mikey his backpack.

Mikey just nods, staring down at the floor. He looks absolutely miserable.

Gerard's already waiting for them by their lockers when they get there. Gabe too, because Gerard stared at him all through lunch until Gabe relented and agreed to drive them to the comic store on the other side of town after school. Ray and Gerard are both old enough to drive, but Gerard doesn't even have a permit yet and Ray doesn't have a car. Technically, Gabe's not old enough to drive them either, but he's tall enough that no one ever gives him a second glance, and he's got wheels. Granted, riding in Gabe's jalopy is a chancy thing to do—particularly since Gabe isn't completely sure he rebuilt the engine correctly last time he took it apart, so, theoretically, it could explode in their faces at any moment—but it's a risk they're all willing to take if it means not wasting precious time and money taking the bus.

It's obvious when they get close enough for Mikey's bruises to be noticeable, because Gerard starts fussing. "Mikey, what the hell happened?!"

"It's fine, Gee, I'm just clumsy, that's all. Leave it," Mikey insists, stepping around Gerard to get to his locker.

Gerard shoots Ray a look, but Ray just shakes his head. If Mikey doesn't want to talk about it right now, Ray sure as hell isn't going to either. He knows Mikey will tell Gerard later on, since Mikey tells him everything, but considering the glances and whispers Mikey was getting on their way here, Ray doesn't blame him for keeping quiet. Gossip about what happened in sixth period Spanish is traveling fast, apparently.

Showing a lot more patience than Ray expected, Gerard holds out as far as the parking lot. By then it's clear he's ready to burst, waiting anxiously as Gabe jiggles the key and croons to his car, trying to sweet talk the door into opening. "Alright," Gerard demands, unable to wait any longer, "what happened?"

"Nothing, I'm just—" Mikey starts again, but this time Ray cuts him off, because this is definitely something Gerard needs to know.

"Mikey was right," he says in a rush. "The furniture _is_ out to get him. The desk shoved him out halfway through class, and when he tried to get up, all the desks in the row started batting him around like a ping-pong ball. Señorita Baker said he had to stand out in the hall for being a disruption."

"And _then_ I couldn't even open the door because the handle kept pushing my hand away. She wouldn't even Ray open it for me when he saw I was having trouble," Mikey gripes. "The only reason she let it go was I got lucky and the door just sort of... opened itself for me."

Ray frowns, glancing down at him. "What are you talking about? I opened it."

Mikey shakes his head and insists, "No, she said you couldn't leave your seat or else we'd both get detention. Remember?"

"Yeah, so I figured screw it and I dashed over to open it and dashed back to my seat. Since she didn't follow up on the detention threat, I figured she didn't really mean it," Ray says with a shrug.

"No," Mikey says "she meant it, you just never opened the door. Trust me, Ray—I would've seen you."

"Unless you couldn't," Gabe says thoughtfully. He's finished fiddling with the door and is half into the driver's seat now, a pensive look on his face. "Then he could've done it and you would've never known." Climbing in the rest of the way, he reaches over and unlocks the passenger-side door.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Mikey grumbles, pushing the seat forward and clambering into the back behind Gabe, Gerard hot on his heels.

"I dunno, man, you tell me. You three are the comic geeks," Gabe says, shoving the passenger seat back into place in Gerard's wake. Gabe pauses a moment, then looks up at Ray, grinning. "Tell you what, Toro. I'll race you to the store. You beat me and I'll pay for everything on your pull list today," he says brightly, suddenly yanking door closed and peeling out of the parking lot, leaving Ray behind, dumbfounded.

Ray's first inclination is to chase after them, and he does that, but before he's gone more than a few feet, he's starting to feel like his feet aren't touching the ground again, just like during P.E. the day before. Doesn't make any sense, though, so it's probably just in his head. He got new shoes recently, maybe the soles are better at cushioning than his old ones. He's also managed to lose track of Gabe's car, so it looks like Gabe's going to win whatever game he's playing this time. Which, duh, of course he is—it's nearly four and a half miles from the school to the comic shop, Ray never had a chance in hell of beating Gabe there.

He means to catch a bus as soon as he reaches a stop, but for some reason traffic's not really moving today, at least not that he notices, so Ray figures he might as well try and leg it all the way. He can always stop and rest if he gets tired he reasons, since it's not like he really cares if he wins this bet or not.

The store comes into sight and Ray slows down, checking his watch. He made way better time than he expected, but he's not sure when he started, since Mikey was kind of dragging his feet getting to the lockers after class. Still, Gabe has to have beat him, even with traffic as bad as it is. Or, apparently, was. The cars are moving normally now, nothing like the stand-still he noticed earlier. Gabe's car isn't in the lot when Ray checks though, which is weird. Maybe he got caught behind whatever caused the pile-up? It's the only explanation Ray can think of and he sighs, leaning against to the building to wait.

The other guys don't get there for another five minutes. When they pile out of the car, Gabe's got a shit-eating grin on his face, even though he lost the bet he made. "Told you he could do it," Gabe says, still grinning as they walk over.

"What the hell kept you," Ray says. "Did you get caught in traffic or something? I've been waiting for five minutes, already."

"Naw, there wasn't any. Who'd _you_ snag a ride from that you got here so fast?" Gerard asks, looking a bit confused.

Feeling a little sick, Ray shakes his head. "Nobody. Just ran as fast as I could is all."

"You _did_ break the school record yesterday," Gerard says slowly. "Maybe the stopwatch wasn't wrong after all?"

"Bullshit," Mikey snaps. "No one can run that fast."

"And no one's ever suddenly found themselves getting shoved around by furniture before either," Gabe says lightly, causing Mikey's cheeks to flush. "I have third period PE," Gabe adds. "Ray's feet never touched the ground when he did the dash yesterday." Humming to himself, he refuses to say anything else in the face of Gerard's nagging or Ray's searching looks, turning away and walking inside the store. The other boys have to hurry to catch up with Gabe's unnaturally long legs.

\---

Thursday, Gerard's plan to sleep until the last possible minute before he has to haul his ass to school gets wrecked when his mom bangs on his bedroom door. "I'm heading out now, make sure your brother gets to school on time," she tells him through the door, because she thinks guilting Gerard with big brother responsibility will work better than trying to guilt him into a perfect attendance record (she's right).

"Make him get his own self up," Gerard hollers back, refusing to leave his deliciously warm blanket cocoon any sooner than he deems absolutely necessary. "He's a big boy."

"He won't open his door and all he says when I knock is that he's not going to school today. Maybe he'll let you in," she says, peeking in. She sounds a little worried. "He's not having problems, is he?"

"Christ, Ma, don't come in here!" Gerard yelps, throwing a pillow at the door. The last thing he needs is for his mom to see him in his underwear, Jesus. "I'll talk to him, don't worry." He's pretty sure Mikey isn't having it any worse than Gerard did freshman year, barring the whole thing with the furniture being out to get him. Actually, except for that small detail, Mikey's probably having an easier time than Gerard's ever had. Mikey's a weird kid, sure, but he fits in better than Gerard, and he has some classes with Gabe. Everyone likes Gabe. "And I'll get him to school."

Gerard rescues a T-shirt and jeans that smell close enough to clean from his floor and pulls them on. He hops into his socks on his way to Mikey's room, and by the time he's knocking on the door, he just needs shoes and maybe a jacket. "Mikey, come on out already. Ma's freaking."

"She'll freak more if I come out," Mikey says, which doesn't make any sense. "You come in here."

"You've kinda locked the door, Mikes," Gerard reminds him, though he tries the knob again, just to make sure. Yep, still locked.

"Um. Get the nail from above the bathroom door? I can't unlock it," Mikey says, which is just silly. Still, Gerard grabs the nail and fits it into the hole in the knob, popping the lock. It's nice to have doors with locks, but their parents insist on being able to get it open in case of an emergency, so really the whole thing's more a vague illusion of privacy than anything else.

"Seriously, you are way too fucking old to be locking yourself in your holy shit." The nail drops from Gerard's hand and he stands in the doorway, staring. Mikey is floating in the middle of the room, halfway between the floor and the ceiling, hanging onto his boxers like if he doesn't, they'll try and rip themselves off him. "What the hell?!"

"Close the door before Ma sees," Mikey yelps, executing an awkward mid-air tumble as he tries to do it himself. As soon as he lets go of his boxers, they start down his legs, though, and he's back to the struggle of keeping them on. Gerard steps into the room and yanks the door closed behind him, still unable to take his eyes off Mikey.

"She's already gone," Gerard remembers belatedly. "Had to leave early today. Seriously, Mikey, what the fuck is going on here?"

"You think I know? I just woke up like this, with the covers flinging themselves across the room, trying to get away from me," Mikey snipes, but the fear in his eyes belies the peevishness of his tone, and Gerard's chest hurts. It's clear that Mikey's scared out of his wits by this, and Gerard hates not knowing what to do.

"Okay. Okay, so wait, let's think about this for a minute," Gerard says, because he tends to babble when he's panicked and, who knows, maybe talking and logical thinking will help calm Mikey down too. "Monday your desk chair dumped you during math. And yesterday the same thing happened, but during Spanish."

"The door, too," Mikey reminds him. "I couldn't open it at first."

"Right, until Ray opened it." Mikey starts to protest, but Gerard raises a hand, stopping him. "Dude. He beat a car to the comic store. Let's just figure right now that Ray was telling the truth when he said he opened it for you. I mean, maybe he did, considering the, er, present situation. Of you floating and shit." Which reminds Gerard of just how odd the thing with Ray was.

"It's not so much floating as that when I try to go anywhere, I get pushed back," Mikey says. "Like how my shorts keep trying to push themselves off."

Thoughts are whirling around in Gerard's head, and he has grab the wall to keep himself steady as he tries to make them all fit together. "Oh, shit," he says softly, feeling ready to explode as the gravity of the situation crashes down on him. "Shit, Mikey. You realize what's going on?"

"You mean besides being stuck five feet off the ground, trying to keep my dignity intact and not flash you?"

Gerard stares at Mikey, almost speechless with awe. "You're turning into Jean Grey."

*

They call Gabe because Mikey remembers yesterday and knows that if anyone knows what's going on, it's Gabe. "Just because he _says_ he has, like, six doctorates doesn't mean it's true," Gerard insists once he's off the phone, because while Mikey just sometimes doubts the veracity of Gabe's academic achievements, Gee seems to think Gabe's some kind of creeper. Granted, Mikey has to admit that the way Gabe tends to leer at everyone regardless of age or gender can be a little disconcerting at times, but still.

"Technically, he's only got three and a half bachelor's. He's still got to defend his dissertations," Mikey corrects. He's feeling a little calmer now and has started to slowly sink back down towards his bed, which is reassuring, to say the least. He still isn't risking letting go of his boxers.

When he shows, Gabe doesn't bat an eyelash at Mikey's current predicament, though Mikey isn't sure how much of that is due to Gabe actually having some idea of what's going on and how much can be chalked up to Gabe's inability to take anything seriously. "It's just as I suspected," Gabe says, poking at Mikey, then glancing back down at the wire-infested GameBoy in his hands. "You're becoming polarly aligned with everything, Mikes."

"I'm only cold because the blanket threw itself across the room," Mikey insists, frowning in confusion as he gets dressed. He still hasn't touched down yet, but clothing doesn't seem to hate him anymore, so Gerard's started handing him stuff. Apparently Gee's not too keen on Mikey wearing just his boxers around Gabe. "I'm not really polar anything."

"No, I mean, like with magnets. Polar opposites attract each other, magnetically; polar likes repel," Gabe says this like it's the most logical thing in the world, and maybe it is, to him.

"Look, Saporta, I remember seventh grade science just as well as the next person, and that kind of shit only happens with metal. And only some metals," Gerard snaps. "No way is Mikey magnetically- or polarly-anything."

Gabe sighs and shakes his head. "That's why I said it's _like_ magnets. Not the same thing as. It's just close enough to be a reasonable comparison, that's all. Anyway, you can't easily increase and decrease how magnetic something is—well, I mean, you can, but that's electromagnets and another thing entirely—and Mikey's definitely doing that. So it's only kind of similar to magnets, that's all."

"I'm not getting possessed by an alien entity that's going to make me crazy, am I? Gee says I'm turning into Jean Grey," Mikey says gloomily, because the whole Phoenix saga makes everything more complicated and depressing. As cool as turning into an X-Man would be, some of their plotlines really suck and Mikey would rather not deal with that.

"Uh. Who? Look, this has nothing to do with aliens, it's just a special talent, like how Gerard here can draw like a mofo," Gabe says, because he likes to pretend he's not as just as much of a geek as them and doesn't totally read over Mikey's shoulder all the time when he's got a new _Uncanny X-Men_. "Think of it like... reverse telekinesis. Instead of moving stuff with your brain, you can push things away from your body," Gabe concludes.

"Right. Like Jean Grey, only not," Gerard says, nodding along. "You're mutant, Mikey. Man, this is fucking _awesome_."

"Eh, so're you," Gabe says, shrugging. "And me, and Toro. I mean, a lot of people are, but usually it's not anything that people think of as being 'mutant'. Most mutations are small things no one really notices, or that don't matter, in the long run. Little typos in the genetic code and all that. Six-fingered hands, albinism, eidetic memory, blue eyes—they're all kinds of mutations. Mikey's and Toro's are just more noticeable and unusual than most."

"I can't do anything like this," Gerard says, frowning and gesturing towards Mikey, who's slowly sinking to the floor, now, "and neither can Ray. Or you."

"Like I said, typos in the genetic code," Gabe repeats. "There's so much code, it's rare that the same typo happens in the same place, ever. Mikey's a human magnet and Ray can go super fucking fast. Me, I'm smart."

"He means he's got an IQ of, like, 200 or something," Mikey offers, finally touching down. He thinks that might count as high, since Gabe was pretty proud when he announced that particular factoid, but it's not like Mikey knows much of anything about IQ tests, so really, it means fuck-all to him.

"Which doesn't mean anything because IQ tests are a biased and unreliable means of measuring intelligence," Gabe shoots back, apparently no longer in love with his test results. "I just figure things out faster than most people, that's all."

It's weird that Gabe's trying to downplay himself here when he normally can't shut up about how fucking smart he is, so Mikey eyes him suspiciously. "If you say so," Mikey tells Gabe a little warily. "But if you're smart and Ray's fast, what about Gee?" Not that Mikey's doubting Gabe's claim of Gerard being a mutant or anything, because if Mikey's learned anything from the whole thing with the Flashes and Impulse, it's that special powers run in families. It's just that if Gerard had a special mutant power, there would be no way in the world that he'd shut up about it.

"Well, maybe not Gerard," Gabe allows. "I kinda just included him so he wouldn't feel left out. Sorry, man. You're completely normal and mundane."

"Like I care about that," Gerard sniffs, though it's obvious that he totally does, so Mikey gives him a hug to let him know it's alright; Mikey learned ages ago that Gerard doesn't need a special power to be awesome, he just _is_. It would be really nice if Gee would realize that too, though.

Instead, Gee smiles a little too brightly and twists around to grab Mikey's shoulders. "This is fucking awesome, Mikey," he says excitedly, eyes alight. "You can totally be superheroes—I'll make costumes! Oh man, what should your names be?"

"I think first, maybe, I should figure out how to control it, if I even can. No point in having a costume if it rips itself off all the time," Mikey offers cautiously, though he has to admit that he's pretty damned psyched about the possibility of being a fucking _superhero_.

"We'll turn the basement into a Danger Room," Gerard promises, and, because Mikey's brother is the best brother, starts rambling on about how they can go about training, and pondering whether it'll be possible to hide Ray's hair under spandex, and just how hard it is to become a non-powered hero like Batman or Robin, anyway.

They even make it to school eventually, though first period is a total loss.

\---

Friday is the big day of the blood-typing lab in biology, and Gabe makes sure to come to school prepared. He's done blood-typing before on his own for fun, so he figures he'll need to take his lab a few steps further to get more out of the class today. Plus, he has chores to do, and it should be simple enough to combine that with the lab.

Gabe isn't sure when it became his job to keep the human race from destroying itself. Mostly, he blames Gerard. But then, a whole fuckton of things in Gabe's life would be simpler if he'd never met the Ways, so it's easy to blame Gerard for most anything. 

At lunch, Mikey's complaining about how the furniture in geometry is out to get him again while Toro's muttering dark, nonsensical things about spandex and capes. Gabe washes his hands of the whole mess and leaves early so he can grab the stuff he'll need for biology from his car.

The blood-typing lab consists of getting three drops of blood and adding different antisera to each drop. Which drops agglutinate after coming into contact with the antisera allows you to determine the blood type of the person the blood came from. It's pathetically simple and takes hardly any time at all, but Gabe knows that Mikey, not knowing any better, has been looking forward to it all week. Gabe, because he's a good friend and an awesome lab partner, has something much more interesting lined up. Mikey doesn't know how good he has it, really.

When the bell rings to signal the end of the passing period, Gabe's ready to go. He's got his gloves on, mini-cooler ready, racks of colorfully-stoppered vacutainer tubes out and ready on the lab table, a hypo in one hand and an alcohol wipe in the other when Mikey slides into his seat. While Mr. Sylvester is rambling on about antigens and alleles, Gabe turns to Mikey with a friendly smile.

Mikey doesn't seem so keen. "...why do you have a needle? The lab hasn't even started yet, and Sylvester said we're just pricking our fingers," he hisses, one eye on Sylvester, who's busy drawing Punnett squares on the board.

"C'mon, Mikeyway," Gabe croons, reaching for him, "I just want a little bit of blood. Won't hurt a bit, you'll barely even notice. It's for science!"

"Yeah, no, that doesn't look safe at all," Mikey insists, leaning away from Gabe. "Can't we just stick to the lab?"

Gabe pouts, kicking at the rungs of Mikey's stool. "Fuck the lab. How are we supposed to figure out what's up with you and your whole floaty thing if you won't even give me blood samples?" Granted, Gabe's pretty sure he's already got a good handle on what's up with Mikey, and the blood work he's planning on doing will just add another level of confirmation, but testing hypotheses is what science is all about, so this is totally justified. Gabe may also have other ulterior motives, but that's beside the point.

Mikey hesitates, which was what Gabe was counting on. Gabe knows these guys, he knows Mikey's freaked out about getting shoved around by furniture and that Gerard talking about mutants and superheroes is nice and all, but not exactly real to Mikey, who just wants to know if there's something wrong with him, because what teenager doesn't? Anyway, the point is that Mikey hesitates, as planned, and that lets Gabe get closer. "I totally know what I'm doing," he insists. "I won't hit a nerve or anything; I've passed phlebotomy three times already." He had to take it the two extra times in order to sneak enough additional lab samples to have something to compare Gerard's blood to. Science demands a control group.

"I don't know what that—son of a bitch!" Mikey squawks as Gabe grabs his arm, swabs down the skin with an alcohol pad, and jabs the needle in. Most people wouldn't be able to find a vein that quickly, but Gabe isn't most people, and he's been sizing up Mikey's arms for weeks.

"Hold still, I don't want to bruise the vein," Gabe says, grabbing a red-stoppered vacutainer and sliding it into the plastic holder attached to the hypo. "It'd probably also be good if you relax some," Gabe adds as he swaps out the vacutainer for an empty, making sure to maintain eye contact with Mikey the entire time, "so the needle doesn't shoot out. My current theory is you become polarly aligned when you're agitated. So calm the fuck down already." Gabe's been looking into this for years now, reading journals, magazines, and papers from all over, lurking in ListServs. There are a lot of people like Mikey out there, though most don't even realize they're any different from the majority of the population. The younger ones just think they're maladjusted teens who don't fit in, and the older ones have mostly tried so hard to fit in that they've convinced themselves they do.

"This is total bullshit." Mikey's glaring, but he's stopped moving for now. Gabe hopes he's settling down because he remembers that Gabe honestly never tries to hurt him with his projects and not because of... other things. That'd be nice.

"Language, boys," Mr. Sylvester comments, suddenly materializing next to them and nearly giving Gabe a heart attack. "Oh my, what's all this, Gabriel?" he asks, peering at them over his glasses. Fucking great, just what Gabe needs—the possibility of detention looming down on him when he's just trying to help out a friend. Well, help and get some answers in general. It's the concept of the thing.

"Well, it's kinda boring to just type blood, so I thought I'd run a chem panel on Mikey, sir," Gabe says, meeting Sylvester's gaze and holding it. He hates doing this, and he's just glad he botched the process and can't rely on it all the time the way some people can. Shit creeps him out. "Might try sequencing his DNA later. Don't worry, I've done phlebotomy, I know what I'm doing."

"Oh, well, if that's all it is," Sylvester says with a nod and a smile, sweeping past them to the next table. Gabe lets out the breath he was holding and swaps vacutainers. Maybe he really should have waited to do this at home, but honestly, he figured the sooner the better, especially if Mikey's anything like Gerard.

"What the hell was that. How do you not have detention?!" Mikey demands, which is a bit of a relief. Okay, good. It only works when he maintains eye contact. Good. Limits are nice.

"It's possible I did a... thing," Gabe allows, trying to think of how to explain this, or even if he should. On the one hand, Mikey is in the best position to keep track of Gerard. On the other, if Mikey has a secondary ability that mirrors Gerard's, telling him is the worst possible thing Gabe could do. Still, it's _Mikey_. "And also I should maybe mention now that I got Gerard to help me with my phlebotomy homework over the summer," Gabe says casually, "and I did this whole blood thing with him, too. You know how once you've sequenced someone's DNA, you can sometimes identify and isolate the bits that are responsible for certain things?"

Mikey nods slowly, like he thinks Gabe's nuts. Which, hey, is understandable, particularly considering what he's about to say. There's a reason why Gabe can't hope to publish the results of half the shit he does in his basement. No one would ever believe him.

"Right, so once you have that, it's not that hard to figure out how to take the stuff you've isolated and do a little gene therapy shimmy to pop it into yourself," Gabe explains. "But you really shouldn't tell Gerard about that, because if he figures out what's going on and that I lied yesterday, he might accidentally destroy the world while he's trying to save it." Gabe uses the hand that's not holding the hypo to grab Mikey's chin and turn his face so they're eye-to-eye. This is important. He has got to get this through to Mikey, to make him _believe_. Keeping his voice calm and steady—earnest—Gabe says, "I mean it. You really can't tell him."

"Wait, go back a minute," Mikey says, frowning and looking confused. "You put some of Gerard's blood in you? Isn't that dangerous? Why the hell would you even _do_ something like that?"

Gabe sighs and swaps tubes again. He's filled nearly twenty already and he should probably stop soon, before Mikey faints from blood loss. Hopefully he's got enough samples. "First of all, it wasn't his blood, it was a serum I'd developed from a concentrated portion of the blood samples I took from him," Gabe corrects. "It's totally different. Secondly, I was very careful, and I'd done it with rats before, so it's not like I was going in blind. Finally, you didn't actually think I _meant_ it when I said Gerard wasn't a mutant, did you?"

"You said you were joking," Mikey says, blinking slowly. He clutches at the rim of the table with the hand of his free arm, looking dizzy. Right, definitely time to stop now.

Ever so carefully, Gabe eases out the needle at last, then quickly applies a wad of gauze to the puncture site and sticks a couple of pieces of paper tape down to hold it in place. "Yeah, because, like I said, Gerard can't fucking know he can do anything. He'd try to use it to fix things and end up screwing everything up because he wouldn't think all the consequences through. That's why I had to risk giving it to myself. To help keep him in the dark," Gabe says seriously, putting the test tubes away in a mini-cooler and then turning to grip Mikey's shoulders. "It was the only way I could be sure he'd buy it when I told him he's normal."

"Gee would never hurt anyone," Mikey insists, clinging to his big brother-worship to the very end, because to Mikey, Gerard is just his peaceful, kooky, talented brother. He doesn't get that even the best person can totally fuck things up if he has a power he doesn't fully understand the parameters of. "There's not a dangerous bone in his body."

"Not his bones, Mikey. His _voice_. It makes you want to _believe_ things," Gabe says earnestly, and he can see exactly the moment that Mikey starts to get it, the moment that understanding begins to slowly bloom and blossom. Gabe understands. It was something of a wakeup call for him, too, when he realized it last summer.

He didn't want to have to do it. He didn't want to have to put blinders on him and steal Gerard's own ability just to convince him he's nothing special, but Gabe honestly couldn't think of any other way to do it. Gabe can take bits of genetic code and add it in, but he still hasn't figured out a way to take it out of someone, and the only other way he could think of to protect Gerard was to take him out of the picture entirely, and Gabe just couldn't do that. Gerard is his friend. He's funny and strange and maybe doesn't shower as often as he should, but what teenager does? Gabe's just hoping that if Gerard doesn't realize what he can do through sheer earnestness, if he sticks to vigilante justice, there's a better chance that he won't accidentally cause World War III or the downfall of modern society or something.

Because Gerard can make anyone believe something, if he tries hard enough. Even if Gerard never tries to do something big with it, all it would take is for just one person, the wrong person, to find out that he can do it. And then nothing and no one would be safe.

\---

Saturday, Ray comes over and he and Mikey help Gerard plan and make superhero outfits. Gabe's nowhere to be seen, but then he's probably still messing with Mikey's blood or trying to eat Gerard's DNA or something. He tends to do his weird science experiments on the weekends either way, so unless he needs test subjects, they don't usually see much of him between Friday and Monday.

"I'm not wearing spandex," Ray reminds them. He's been saying it over and over like a broken record ever since Gerard first proposed the possibility of superheroes on Thursday. "And I'm not wearing a cape," he adds, because as soon as they'd figured out that he doesn't run really fast so much as fly really fast, Gerard of course brought up capes. "Other than that, I'm pretty much okay with anything. Except spankies."

"I was thinking about it, and the only reason to wear spandex is that it fits under your clothes. Which is only any good if you need to change quickly in, like, a telephone booth or something. And then you lose your street clothes and stuff anyway, unless you can web it up and stash it somewhere, like Spider-Man," Gerard says, pulling out his sketchbook and flipping it open. "Makes more sense to just have, like, a mask and a reversible jacket. Maybe some gloves. What d'you think?"

  
  


After yesterday's revelation from Gabe, Mikey was worried he might feel weird around Gerard now. So far, though, nothing's any different than usual, and he wonders if Gabe's even right about Gerard having a freaky, subvocal compulsion component to his voice. It seems more likely that people want to believe what Gerard has to say just because Gerard talks about stuff that anyone would want to believe in—superheroes, unicorns, vampires... "I like them," Mikey says, studying the sketches Gerard's done. "Is that me? Why've I got an R on me? "

"Did you give me a _gun_?! Fucking hell, Gerard, where the hell would I get a _gun_?" Ray demands, tugging the sketchbook away from Mikey, probably so he can study Gerard's marginal notes and scribbles better.

"Okay, first off, the R's because I thought it could be, like, your insignia. I was thinking you could call yourself Repel?" Gerard says tentatively. "And it can be a water gun, Ray, not a real one. You need someway to protect yourself, you can't just shove things at people the way Mikey can."

"Repel is a kinda lame name. I'm gonna be Teen Reject, though," Mikey says, "so the R's still cool." He spent a lot of time thinking about it over the last few days, and it feels like a name that would really fit him. "And Ray doesn't need a gun. He can just fly into people really fast. It would totally knock them out."

"More like put a hole in them," Gabe drawls from the top of the stairs. "Since I'm pretty sure he's working up to flying near or at the speed of light." He comes down, flopping next to Mikey on the couch.

Gerard beams and motions for Ray to pass the sketchbook to Gabe. "Look! Costumes to fight crime in. I did one for you too, see? I found this great jacket. I know you aren't big on the whole superheroes thing, but it's kind of like your duty, right? To help out and try to make the world a better place. I think I'm going to call myself the Advocate," Gerard says, nodding to himself. "I mean, I may not have any special ability like you three do, but if there's other people like you out there, someone's gonna have to speak up and look out for you."

"You want to take on the world to fight for mutant rights," Gabe states flatly. "What."

"No, it totally makes sense. There's no Professor X in real life, but that doesn't make what he believes in any less true or important. Someone's gotta stand up for the oddballs out there, Gabe," Gerard insists. "Also, I don't think you should call yourselves mutants, that's got all kinds of kinds of bad connotations, plus I think Marvel might sue you. We should use something else, like, I dunno. Meta? I like meta."

Gabe protests, Ray rolls his eyes, and Mikey grins. Gabe's right that Gerard may always mean well, but it would only take one misspoken word in the wrong ear for chaos break out. At the same time, it's still Gerard. He could, potentially, do anything.

"Not that it's strictly necessary, but if we're going to be kicking ass and taking names, we might want to figure out something to call ourselves," Ray says, raising his eyebrows.

"Yeah, I got nothing for you, Ray. All the good speedster names are pretty much taken," Gerard says. "I tried."

"Yeah, no. I meant for all of us. A group name."

Gerard's eyes light up. "Manufactured Ghoul. Unchained Distilled. Minefield Abyss. Farewell to Armada," he says in a rush, obviously on a roll.

"You can't use hypothetical band names for a vigilante group," Ray insist, shaking his head.

"Yeah, but Doom Patrol's already taken," Gerard points out. Mikey agrees; this is a real tragedy.

"Suburban Defiance," Mikey suggests from where he's sunk down and is lying on the floor.

"Better, but still sounds like a band name. Meta-United," Ray throws out.

Gerard snorts. "Sure, if you want DC to sue the crap out of us."

Ray frowns. "I'm pretty sure they don't have 'meta' copyrighted, and besides, you're the one who—" and Mikey starts in with, "Yeah, like that's gonna matter. It sounds like a fucking bank, Ray," while Gerard's insisting, "Proper nouns are a _different_ thing _entirely_ —"

"Good Samartians," Gabe cuts in.

They all turn to stare at him, and he coughs, rubbing the back of his neck and refusing to meet their eyes.

"With an optional 'The' at the beginning," he adds.

"...yeah, okay," Gerard says after a minute. "Good Samaritans it is."


End file.
